Light My Candle
by Syrinth
Summary: Roger gets back to the loft after a bitter night out, and finds a surprise waiting for him. Older story with massive revisions.


AN: Second fanfic I wrote but drastically revised, hope you enjoy.

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Roger entered the loft quickly, seeking relief from the bitter cold of winter. The thin gloves he had managed to scrounge up earlier had not done anything to save his now frozen hands, and his ears felt ready to break apart. The temperature had dropped from a brisk thirty degrees to a miserable five in just a few hours, and the wind had begun howling down the streets since he'd left the loft that afternoon.

His new band had just finished playing at a popular bar in SoHo, the Midnight Lounge. While the night had started out great, the customers had eventually stopped coming, and Roger found his focus slipping as the bar slowly emptied. Eventually, every flash of blond hair in the nearly empty club reminded him of Mark, and he longed to feel those blue eyes watching him from the bar.

Although he had been relieved when the club closed for the night, he had also been blissfully ignorant of the temperature outside. The walk down hadn't been too bad of a trek, but the sudden change in the weather had made his return feel like hours. He had found his thoughts focused on Mark the whole trip back, and it had been the only thing that made the walk bearable.

Pulling the door back, he flinched out of his thoughts. His eyes were forced shut against the glare from hundreds of candles placed around the room, filling it with light and much-needed warmth.

"Mark?" Roger called, confusion setting in as he wandered, dumbstruck, around the loft before sitting heavily on their worn couch.

He took in the scene around him, mind scrambling to find an explanation as he warmed himself. He sat there for several minutes, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to get his blood flowing again, and work the cold out of his system before something occurred to him.

It had been years ago, back when Mark and Maureen were dating; she had been giggling about how Mark had arranged a big romantic night for her in the loft, just the two of them. He'd gotten flowers, candles, and even managed to get a bottle of expensive wine. Roger could still remember the look of embarrassment on Mark's face as she told the tale of "Mark's Romantic Night" over dinner at the Life café. She had insisted that the whole thing had been silly and way too over the top for her, too commercial. It was the last time that Mark had ever made any attempts at romance, before tonight.

Roger swore under his breath; he was too late, Mark must have found someone. Of course he had, it was amazing that Mark had remained single for this long. He'd just sat back and took it for granted that Mark was alone, that he'd still be waiting even though he'd had years to tell Mark how he felt since Maureen had dragged the man into his life.

"_Roger, over here!" Maureen shouted, her voice echoing down the hall. Roger ran the length of the hallway before she got impatient and started shouting again, her voice was shrill enough without the hall amplifying it. "This is Mark; he's in my Film class. Mark, this is Roger," she said as he sat down on the floor beside her, motioning to the blond boy sitting across from him._

"_Hi." Roger held out his hand, smiling broadly._

"_Um, hi." An awkward smile flashed across the kid's face as he hurriedly shook Roger's hand before taking a series of quick bites from his sandwich._

"_Isn't he cute? Like a nervous hamster," Maureen whispered into Roger's ear.__"It took me a while to get him talking. Nothing seems to work on him." She began counting off on her fingers. "I've tried talking to him, hugging him, engaging him in scintillating conversation."_

"_What was that last one?" Roger raised an eyebrow skeptically._

"_Fine, Days of Our Lives.__It's not my fault you don't get it." She waved a hand. "Anyways, I figured you could try. I have no idea what he has against hugging."_

"_Right, 'hugging.' This is, what, the fourth time you've done this? Most people don't like hugs from crazy people." Roger noticed that Mark was shooting him quick glances as he ate, pretending to examine the elaborate mural farther down the hall._

"_Shut up, everyone likes hugging," she swatted him on the shoulder._

"_Evidently, not Mark," Roger mumbled, turning his attention away from her and onto the boy, who had pulled out a camera, panning it around the hallway. "What's that?"_

"_My camera, my grandfather gave it to me a few years ago." He turned, aiming the device at the bickering teens. The handle began turning, and a shy smile crept onto his face when Roger grinned at him._

They had become fast friends, but soon Roger started sneaking looks at the other youth whenever he could get away with it, and, as he found himself watching Mark with increasing attentiveness, he couldn't help but fall for the man he saw.

At first, he'd tried to run away from his feelings; Mark was his friend, nothing more. He couldn't betray that trust and besides, Mark certainly didn't want him, he was in love with Maureen. He was ashamed to admit it now, but April had only been an escape for him; nothing more than a way for him to convince himself that he wasn't in love with his best friend. Every kiss between them had been a lie, nothing more than an attempt to ignore the feelings he was trying to hide.

April couldn't help him, but the drugs she introduced him to could. The heroin did push Mark out of his mind, but it had soon pushed him all the way out. It was only after April's suicide that he realized what he was doing, and how badly he had been hurting Mark. Mark had kept Roger alive, both during his addiction and after. He had struggled to keep them fed and warm; their money, always tight, had all but disappeared when the Well Hungarians had fallen apart. Collins had sent them a little flow once or twice, while Mark had taken any odd job he could. It was never quite enough though, they were still hungry more often than not, and Mark had often skipped meals to let Roger eat instead, especially when Roger had found where Mark kept their money. Sure he'd sworn at Roger, yelled and cursed him when the other was sober enough to understand, but for some reason, he stayed anyway. He'd willingly gone through Hell to take care of Roger even when it meant he couldn't take care of himself. Mark was his rock, the one thing keeping him alive and the only thing he had to live for.

That's how things had been until Mimi came. Before that night, he thought that he would never feel for anyone but Mark ever again, but the fires he thought long burned out had blazed into life. He still didn't know what it was about her, their relationship certainly hadn't been perfect. Hell, it hadn't even been that long, but somehow she had forced her way in and left the door wide open behind her. Being with her had not only taught him that he still deserved love, it had paved the road for Roger to face his feelings for Mark. When she died, it was Mark who, like always, had kept him together, kept him sane. It was Mark who had held him close at the funeral, and told him everything would be all right. Before she'd ripped open that door, he would never have even considered telling Mark the truth, but now it was too late…

No! Roger shook his head violently, attempting to dislodge his thoughts. It wasn't possible. He clung desperately to that last shred of hope lying in his cold and weary body, hope that his friend felt the same as he did, and that he hadn't been imaging the sly looks and lingering touches the other man gave him. Maybe Mark had just been cold, last time the power went out they lit candles all over the place didn't they? The flimsy story died in his mind when he called out again and heard only his own voice.

Someone up there must hate him; it'd taken him this long to decide to confess his feelings and, of all nights Mark could have chosen for another try at romance, it had to be tonight. They were probably sleeping by now, lying in each other's arms after a perfect evening, one which Roger had spent working; he grimaced at the unwelcome thought, cheeks flushing in jealousy. Why hadn't Mark told him? At the very least, if he'd found a lover, why hadn't he mentioned it? Why hadn't he told Roger to expect a scene like this when he got home, or how about at least mentioning the company? No, something wasn't right. He had to be missing something, but there wasn't any other explanation. Didn't Mark tell him everything? Evidently not.

He followed the trail of candles to Mark's room, each step draining him of strength until there was nothing left. He was standing frozen outside the door when a sudden surge of emotion flooded through his body, strengthening his resolve. If he couldn't be with Mark, he was damn well going to find out who it was that had stolen him away. After pausing to listen at the door, he nudged it open as quietly as he could, mind screaming at him to run. Struggling, he silenced his fears and peered through the widening crack.

Mark was alone, wrapped in his blankets and gently snoring, surrounded by a host of candles.

Heart pounding, Roger gently pushed the door open and took a cautious step forwards, wincing when the door creaked.

Stirring from his slumber, Mark raised his head and grinned a slow, seductive smile that made Roger's knees go weak. He'd never seen Mark look at anyone with such desire before. Come to think of it though, he'd never had anyone look at him with such concentrated lust, but this whole situation was so strange. Mark never put himself out like this, aside from that one night, he had always been the one pursued. This whole thing was so…unlike him.

Mark's smile froze as the sleep faded from his eyes, and he saw the stunned look on Roger's face. "Uh…Listen… Roger, I know this seems—shit, this was a stupid idea." He fell silent, turning his face away and clutching the cloth to his body.

"Mark, I—"

"I'm just… tired of second guessing myself, not knowing what you feel. Sometimes, when you touch me…I needed to just tell you what I want for once, even if you don't… want me." He seemed to falter then and turned to look out the window.

Roger took a cautious step forward, then another.

"Mark… look at me." Mark turned his face towards him, and he could see Mark shaking. "I want this."

"What?" A look of disbelief passed across Mark's face.

"I want this…us…you…" he trailed off, unsure of what else to say. _I should tell you, I should tell you._ The words echoed in his head, begging to be sung again, but Roger remained silent as he began walking forward once more.

He moved slowly, taking his time to treasure the moment, and fix it in his mind. His eyes roved freely across Mark's body, gliding across the slight muscles and gentle curves, noting how the soft yellow candlelight played across his usually pale skin, and the subtle glint of light on his glasses.

He was little more than halfway across the room when his eyes were drawn to something he thought was odd: a short, unlit yellow candle was lying, seemingly forgotten, on the floor beside the bed.

"You missed one, let me get that." he whispered, reaching unthinkingly into his pocket for a match as Mark quirked an eyebrow at him in confusion. He leaned down to look where Roger pointed, the sheets dropping low as he stretched to pick up the candle.

Roger closed the distance between them as Mark brought the candle up, holding it out to him. Crouching beside the bed, he struck the match, his eyes now locked with Mark's as he pressed the tiny flame to the candlewick. They stayed there a moment, the candle glowing between them as they stared into each other's eyes, each of them content to just watch the other.

Roger broke the spell first and grinned wolfishly, taking Mark's hand in his and gently pushing it to the side, setting the candle on the old bedside table. Mark managed a quick grin before Roger leaned forward, bringing their lips together.


End file.
